Famous Nathan by Mr. Lloyd Handwerker Page A

naturally occurred: a few pennies, nickels, and dimes from each one of those visitors could add up to something big. The two ends of the retail spectrum are volume and exclusivity. Coney had the one to such a degree that it didn’t need the other.
    Through his job as a Feltman’s waiter, a few of those nickels and dimes had already found their way into the pocket of Nathan Handwerker. Bank failures notwithstanding, in two seasons at Coney Island, 1914 and 1915, and during four years while working at Manhattan luncheonettes, Nathan had managed to save $300.
    In the summer of 1916, he took a rare day off. A coworker at the Busy Bee named Sam (again, last name lost to history) ran the waffle-and-ice-cream concession at the luncheonette. The two men spoke of going into business for themselves. That day, Nathan suggested a scouting trip.
    â€œSam, let’s go out to Coney Island.”
    Saturday. Nathan still worked at Feltman’s. He should have been in a waiter’s apron that day. His bosses could have found him out. But it was easy to remain anonymous amid the numberless throng along Surf Avenue. The season was just beginning. He and Sam joined the vast parade of humanity. The first rental property they looked at was a barbershop.
    â€œThey asked $150 [per month] for the place, for just a piece of counter,” Nathan recalled. “So I’m hesitating. I didn’t like it. There’s nothing there—no water, no sinks, nothing, no sewer.”
    While Sam remained behind, negotiating with the barbershop’s owners, Nathan returned to the bustle of the street to look around. He stood in the middle of the block between Stillwell Avenue and Fifteenth Street. Looking up and down the block, he noticed a building on the south side of Surf Avenue that stood out from a small lane then called Seaside Walk.
    The lane would soon be renamed after a local bottler of soda water, Philip Schweickert Sr. At some point during the succeeding years, the c was dropped, and the street sign became “Schweikerts Walk.” (The good news is that you have a small slice of Coney Island named after you—the bad news is that the New York City Department of Transportation is going to forever misspell your name.) Even in the mid-1920s, the lane was still sometimes referred to by its original appellation of Seaside Walk.
    The counter offered for lease was tiny, just five feet long on Surf and another eight feet deep on Schweikerts. Nathan noticed that some structures on the street seemed to disappear amid the crowds of people. But he could see the little corner building from the middle of the block.
    He returned to the barbershop and summoned his erstwhile partner. “See that place? There’s a corner there. Let’s go and see.”
    A man dozed inside the store’s cramped interior. Sam approached him, and the two of them spoke German, of which Nathan understood a little. The proprietor wanted $300 for a lease on the premises.
    â€œLet’s take it,” Nathan said.
    â€œYou want to take it?” Sam responded, doubtful.
    â€œYou want to be a partner, I’ll take you. And if you don’t want it, I’ll take it myself.”
    Nathan and Sam signed the contract for the tiny counter space at Surf and Schweikerts. The landlord accepted $150 from each of them.
    July 1916. An empire was born. Like a lot of great empires, it ran into trouble right from the start.
    *   *   *
    Nathan always referred to the Surf Avenue location as “the store.” It wasn’t called “Nathan’s Famous” then. It wasn’t called anything. It was just two guys, Nathan and Sam, selling frankfurters for a dime, with lemonade and orangeade going for a nickel.
    In the beginning, what would become an empire was literally built on sand. The store had no real foundation. Nathan laid wooden two-by-fours directly on the dun-colored Coney Island beach sand and then placed planks